Her Little Lungs Sighed

…You are the lightning that made my fill my chest with candles. You are the thunder clapping for the poem nobody else wants to hear. You are an icicle’s tear watering a tulip on the first day of spring. You melt me alive. You kiss me deep as my roots will reach. And I want nothing more than to be an eyelash fallen on your cheek, a thing collected by your finger and held like a wish. I promise whatever I do I will always try my best to come true.